


Constructing a God

by leporicide



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Reversal, Age Swap, Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Postmodernism, Recreational Drug Use, Role Switching, Sports, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:29:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporicide/pseuds/leporicide
Summary: Shirogane Takashi falls in love again, and again, and again.Keith Kogane just wants to make it through this semester without losing fucking his job.





	1. who is he

**Author's Note:**

> Look, it's beta'd by Kouji, our saving grace.
> 
> Listen, this fic is thirsty young Shiro and hot Professor Keith so fuck, man idk. It's 4 parts. Blame both Kouji and Jennypen, thanks.

0.

The basic human need to be watched was once satisfied by God.

I.

Shirogane Takashi first sees Dr. Kogane at the bar.

It’s an old joint that sits on the outskirts of the college town, older than the crooked buildings on campus but continuously steady in its traffic. Shiro comes here with his group often, the fraternity finding solace in nursing cheap beer and screaming loudly at the loose hanging television. It’s one of those nights, where they’re all huddled in a back booth, a decent distance from the screen, passing the pitcher around and blocking flicks of peanut shells.

Hunk is the most focused, barely touched his drink as his eyes train to the scoreboard. Shiro is almost envious, that type of focus in the rowdy group is admirable. Something happens in the game, Hunk scrunching his face in displeasure before finally pulling the drink towards his lips, letting the alcohol wet them. He catches him staring.

“Off night?” Hunk asks, quiet between them in a space away from everything. Shiro is grateful, sheepish that he’s been caught staring.

“Yeah,” is all he can muster, shrugging his shoulders and slouching down the booth, bumping his knees against the other playfully. Hunk grins, blindingly bright and somehow that works to improve Shiro’s mood.

“Well, maybe a snack can help? We can order a burger or something?”

Shiro’s about to shoot him down until he notices the worry on Hunk’s face, easing into mild frown lines that sit unnatural on his dark skin. It makes the tips of his fingers itch, defensive. He nudges his joints against him, wiggling his way out of the booth much to the protest of a few of the guys who shout joyously at him about disrupting the spirit. “I’ll grab something quick, from the bar.”

Hunk nods and waves him off, a yell of “put it on my tab” pushing Shiro forward to the crowd. 

The bar is littered with colleagues, packed into small groups that move in uniform together, circling tables and laughing. It’s jarring, Shiro realizes, that the discomfort he’s feeling is morphing into agitation. He doesn’t let it show on his face.

When he reaches the bar, Shay turns to smile at him, two pitchers firmly in her hands as she moves down the table to hand it to a group of older men, noisily debating something. Shiro recognizes Dr. Coran from his physics class, a man who insists on keeping his title but likes to be referred to by his first name. It’s no surprise that the professors go drinking together and it isn’t the first time he’s seen them huddled around the bar, complaining about the school board or the new chairman.

Shay returns, empty handed with a tired look in her eyes. She’s probably been working the majority of the day shift from the sigh that uncurls itself from her lips. “Hey, Shiro,” she greets fondly, used to his face. Shiro gives her a sympathetic smile, pushing himself to rest his elbow on the wood separating them.

“Hey, Shay. Long night?”

She nods, collecting the small crumpled bills left for tip on wet coasters. Her hands are steady. “It’s just getting started.”

“Mind taking an order for fries?”

Shay looks up, shooting him a suspicious look, raising a dark eyebrow. “Breaking your diet? Or is this for Hunk?”

Shiro tries not to look guilty, flashing his eyes anywhere but her waiting face. It’s then that he catches him, eyes naturally falling to the entrance of the hole-in-the-wall joint as the door creeps open enough to let someone slip through. The man at the door looks as agitated as Shiro feels under his skin, hot like coal that burns into a mild headache. Despite his prominent frown, he’s catching, arresting Shiro’s attention despite the faded t-shirt, the words “THEY’RE OUT THERE” crammed in bulky green letters under the typical alien cartoon. Black hair is messily tied together into a ponytail, held together from what Shiro can see to be a red elastic band. He looks sick, tired eyes scanning the crowd, briefly landing on Shiro before moving on but it’s enough for the color to pool in Shiro’s cheeks, forcing him to turn his gaze back to Shay.

Her attention isn’t on him anymore either, looking in the direction of the unknown stranger that slinks his way to the bar.

“Hey Dr. Kogane,” she greets, smiling brighter when Shiro chokes on air.  _ Dr. _ Kogane implied  _ Professor _ , and that’s impossible, he looks so  _ young _ , despite the couple inches he has on Shiro.

Dr. Kogane, Shiro memorizes, nods to Shay before following her pointed finger to the group of professors who have now started screaming about the new restriction for dogs on campus. Shiro steals another glance at him, making sure to lean his body in what he thinks is a favorable way and smiles. Dr. Kogane barely looks at him, tapping the bar to ask for his own beer bottle, which seems like a common occurrence as Shay is already in the motion of handing him a Pale Ale, much to Shiro’s disgust. The man doesn’t bat an eye before inhaling the alcohol and turning to make his way to the other professors, all of them yelling greetings to him as he approaches.

Shiro notes that he’s slouches as he walks, lazily tied red sneakers dragging behind him as he moves to sit with the other men.

A plate of fries lands before Shiro with an anticlimatic plop, forcing his neck to snap towards Shay, who’s giving him a knowing look. Shiro can’t find it in himself to get defensive. “What?” he asks, picking up the fries and shoving one in his mouth.

“Nothing,” she sings, twirling a clean glass in her hands. “He teaches one of my classes.”

“Huh,” Shiro asks, turning his attention back to Dr. Kogane, enjoying the small smile that teases his lips as Dr. Coran leans in, probably to tell him the recent disappoint he feels from grading exams.

“Yeah,” Shay continues. “He teaches my postmodernism class.”

“Right.”

“You’re staring, Shiro.”

He looks at her, still leaning against the bar as she hunches over his shoulder. “Is it obvious?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen Professor Kogane before.”

“I mean,” Shiro sighs, pushing himself upright and grabbing the platter full of fries. “I’m engineering and physics. I’m out of my depth in literature.”

Shay gives him a sympathetic look, mirroring his earlier. “I assume this is on Hunk’s tab?”

Shiro nods, leaving the bar as Shay turns around to deal with someone else. As he walks, Shiro gets the distinct feeling of eyes on him, heavy on his back as he moves through the rounded tables to reach his group’s booth.

Hunk scooches when he spots Shiro, shoving a few guys tight to give him room, much to their chagrin. He squeezes in, sure to drop the plate in front of the shared space between him and Hunk, enjoying the way the guy’s expression lights up.

Shiro barely finishes saying “go for it” by the time Hunk’s fingers dig into the plate, careful to hand one fry to Shiro after each one he takes. It’s a fond gesture that has followed them since they roomed together freshman year. It touches something in Shiro, makes him temporarily forget his irritation as he munches on the rationed snack.

There it is again.

The skin on the back of his neck bumps, hairs pointing up as he feels he’s being watched. Shiro cranes his head, checks the bar but Shay is in the back, a new tender handling the orders. His vision jumps around the patrons until landing on Dr. Kogane, who sits cross-legged, half nodding to whatever is being said with his lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle. He’s staring at Shiro, unwavering despite making eye contact. Shiro is mesmerized, watching the way his lips pop wetly from the head of the bottle, stray alcohol picked up by the swish of a tongue. He follows the movement, pale fingers reaching up to push loose strands of hair behind ears, which Shiro catches, are pierced. As if on cue, Dr. Kogane begins to speak, responding to something someone must have said but when Shiro makes his way back to his eyes, they’re narrowed angrily at him.

“Who are you looking at?” Hunk asks, snagging Shiro’s focus into the present. He turns to face him, taking in his classmates and the game, the gleeful shouting and Hunk’s curious face.

“No one,” Shiro shrugs, reaching to grab the beer in Hunk’s hand and finishing it in a swig. “No one.”

II.

Wet lips and burning eyes.

No one populates his dreams that night.

III.

The walk to class is a long one, punctuated with the small sighs of Pidge strutting beside him, backpack hanging loosely off her shoulders. Halfway through the piled leaves of Autumn and loose standing roots of old trees that overgrow on the paths does Shiro bite.

“You doing okay?”

Pidge seems to have been waiting for an opportunity, pushing her glasses high up the bridge of her nose. Her brows are furrowed but there’s a small smile on her lips that throws him for a loop. “Hunk told me you were keeping tabs on a young thang.”

Immediately Shiro’s mind jumps to the bar, to the dark eyes of Dr. Kogane, lips around the bottle. He tries to shrug the growing redness from his neck, thankful for the thick scarf covering him. He feels Pidge staring, analyzing his face before breaking into a grin.

“Oh, Shiro, you know you can tell me? Haven’t I helped you before?”

Shiro frowns. “You told Matt I wanted to blow him under the bleachers.”

“And?”

Shiro narrows his eyes. “Not the point.”

Pidge lets out another sigh, more soul killing than the last. “It’s been, I don’t know, how many months since Allura?”

That causes a jut in his step, nearly makes him fall against an uneven bump in the concrete as they near the Johnson Science Building. He hisses at the slight pain of his toes. “Pidge.”

“I’m just saying,” she mumbles, wrapping her fingers around the straps of her backpack, bright green against the seasonal reds and yellows around them. Shiro directs his hatred at that monster of a thing, less interested in fighting her.  “You need to move on. I mean, that’s good. What happened yesterday night. That’s super good.”

Shiro shoulders the double doors, sure to allow enough room for her to slip through before making his way to the stairs. Pidge doesn’t follow him, choosing to stuff her hands into her pockets and turn towards the chemistry department.

“Hey, Shiro?” She calls. Shiro turns. “Are we still on for today? Your place?”

He knows it’s her form of apologizing, realizing she stepped on something still delicate and fresh between them. He already misses her. “Of course.”

She shoots him a smile, small and natural that causes her glasses to slide down her nose again but she doesn’t bother fixing it. Shiro’s the same.

He doesn’t bother fixing a lot of things.

IV.

Shiro spends the majority of his Analytical Mechanics class creating cranes from sheets of notebook. It’s a habit he developed from his father, patiently folding each crease with precision and steady fingers. Dr. Coran has long since stopped calling him out for it after the As he’s scored on the last three quizzes. Shiro’s thankful for it, the habit calming him as he watches chalk glide across a blackboard in the large lecture room, the scratching echoing through the low rising desks.

He makes three of them before one is plucked from the corner of his designated space on the row’s shared desk. Hunk cradles the small paper animal gently in his large hands, a stark contrast from the calluses that wrinkle with the bending of his fingers.

“These still amaze me,” he whispers, turning the crane to face him before tapping his index lightly against its beak with a near silent ‘boop’.

“You should learn.”

“Nah,” Hunk shrugs him off, turning the head to face Shiro this time. “I feel like I’d break them before I make them.”

Shiro watches an expression flit across his friend’s face, an expression he’s only seen a handful of times but it catches his breath. He sits up straight. “I don’t think so at all.” Hunk smiles at him, dazzling and loud. “Hey, um. Do you know anything about the English professor, Dr. Kogane?”

Hunk taps a finger to his chin as he thinks. Dr. Coran manages to ask a question that seems to have stumped the first row, so the second row is called.

“I know of him. Shay says he’s a regular at the bar she works at. He teaches a lot of high level lit classes, I think? You should ask an English Major. I hear he has a cult following.” Hunk takes the pause to look at Shiro. “Much like yourself.”

That gets an embarrassed smile from him despite his reluctance. Shiro feels the heat creep up the back of his neck, naked now in the warm lecture room. “Hunk,” he warns.

Hunk chuckles, a rich sound from the depths of his throat. “Don’t try to deny it. It’s a wide spread secret.”

“That doesn’t make it much of a secret.”

“It does if you keep denying it.”

Shiro’s lips turn downwards, reaching out to rip the crane from Hunk’s hands but he’s evaded. “What else do you know?”

“Not much, really. I think he does some fiction stuff on the school website. Dr. Coran was raving about it once.”

“That’s it?”

Hunk looks at him curiously. “Yeah, that’s all I got. Any reason?”

Shiro darts his eyes around the room, scanning Dr. Coran’s slow path towards their row. “No reason in particular. Thinking of taking one of his intro classes.”

Hunk leans back, resting a pencil between his upper lip and nose. “I think he’s a savage grader.”

“And when have I ever let that stop me from succeeding?”

“You cocky bastard.”

Shiro smiles, setting another crane by Hunk’s, letting their beaks touch in a kiss. Dr. Coran walks past their row, peering at them but otherwise silent as he moves on.

V.

Dr. Kogane’s postmoderism class runs from the 2:30-3:50 pm block, ugly in it’s interruption of a late lunch. Shiro hadn’t meant to stumble upon it, he swears. He’s there to see Sendak, needs to get the loosely scribbled notes of their shared Calculus class from last week, but spotting Shay in the window on a mislabeled door leads him to see Dr. Kogane standing in front of a lecture hall, back turned to him.

He’s dressed nothing like he was in the bar. There’s no familiar red sneakers or faded tees. In its stead is a white knitted sweater, the blue collared shirt peeking out from the top. His hair is tied up cleanly, the only strands that fall frame his face. The piercings are still there. 

Shiro catches himself bracing against the door, leaning in to look more steadily through the small window. Dr. Kogane seems to be frowning, shaking his head at whatever a student has said. The pull of his lips draws Shiro in, tracing the lines of his jaw and down the dip of his neck before the collar. There’s a moment where his tongue peeks out from his lips, faintly imagining licking the junction of exposed skin up to the silver in his ears. He wonders how that would feel between his teeth. 

His attention turns when the professor begins waving the arguing student off, irritation blooming on his face. His hands look soft, a stark contrast to the small crinkles of the crane in Hunk’s hands. His fingers are long—bare, Shiro notes. 

Shiro wonders if Dr. Kogane would choke him.

“Found you.”

Pushing two hands forward, Shiro shoves himself away from the door, ignoring the way it rattles and the likely glare from the individuals inside. 

Sendak is towering next to him, watching him with an unimpressed gaze. He looks ridiculous to Shiro, bulky body tightly packed into a fitting turtleneck. Shiro looks everywhere but his face as he straightens himself out, suddenly feeling exposed in the empty hallway. 

“I wasn’t actually hiding.” 

Sendak feigns confusion, raising an eyebrow with a smirk growing on his face. “Well,” he hums, stepping closer as Shiro backs away from the door and the window and the feelings that lie inside. “This isn’t exactly where we agreed to meet.”

Shiro feels trapped, the wall meeting his back as he reminds himself that the height between them is insignificant, that Sendak leaning in was nothing short of childish attempts at intimidation. “I got distracted.”

“Oh?”

Now he’s just fucking with him.

Shiro shoulders Sendak away from him, embarrassment burning his ears as he turns to leave. Sendak follows without a word.

VI.

Pidge is waiting for him when he finally arrives back at the dorm. Her sneakers look considerably more scuffed from when he’s last seen them though he can’t find it in himself to ask. She looks tired, probably something to due with her lab partner but she doesn’t mention it as he lets them both inside. Instead, she just shrugs off her backpack and makes her way to his bed, collapsing in a deep sigh.

“When does Spring registration start?”

“In three days,” Pidge mumbles through his comforter, face pressed firmly into the sheets. Her glasses must be mushed. 

“Do you have your list ready?” He asks, plopping down beside her as he reaches for his laptop, pulling up the excel spreadsheet.

Finally, she breaks free from suffocating herself to face him. Her glasses have left indents on her nose and under eyes. “Yeah, I’m thinking about taking Advanced Script Design but I heard the professor’s a dick.”

“Aren’t you a chemistry major?”

“Nothing wrong with branching out.”

“You know,” Shiro can’t help the nervous swallow of his throat. He wants to eat his words. “I think you’re right.”


	2. Sike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Call me Keith,” the man grins, as if he didn’t just shatter Shiro’s world effortlessly. “But only out of class. I don’t mind, Shiro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey remember this mistake lmao  
> i don't.

VII.

You will soon have your God, and you will make it with your own hands.

VIII.

Shiro wants until the last possible minute to meet his with advisor.

The woman smiles when he enters her office, backpack hanging precariously off his shoulders as he pulls his hands out of his pockets.

“Well, if it isn’t the legendary Takashi Shirogane? Finally have time for me, I see.”

He laughs awkwardly, ignoring how familiar she’s grown with him despite the multiple students under her charge. The chair beside her is cleared, loose papers and transcripts thrown haphazardly around as he makes himself a space. He pulls out his schedule from the confines of his notebook paper and hands it to her, sure to maintain his sheepish smile.

“How are you doing? How are the kids?”

The advisor pulls her reading glasses on, patting Shiro on the shoulder fondly. “Such a respectable, young man. The boys are fine, they’d be better with some of your manners.”

Another laugh, a little more strained as his attention hyper focuses to her roaming eyes on the sheet.

“Quantum Mechanics, excellent. You need that course. Electric and Magnetic Properties of Materials too, huh. That’s a 300 level course. Really filling up your schedule this year,” she teases and Shiro can feel the sweat collecting on his brow as he lazily rubs his open palms against his jeans. “And Electromagnetic Fields and Waves. Excellent, excellent. And lastly—wait.”

There it is, the moment God descended on Adam and Eve for eating the fruit, except his banishment feels significantly more merciful than the interaction he’s about to have.

“I’m sorry,” she says awkwardly, pulling up her glasses to squint at the paper. “Does this say Postmodernism in Literature? That’s a 200-level literature course.” She finally looks up at him and Shiro’s smile wains, if only slightly. “Takashi, that’s not in your field. And you don’t even have the prerequisites.”

“I covered them in high school and they’re still valid. I just thought,” and he shrugs his shoulders, sure to play up his innocence. “That with all my busy work, you know, with my double major and the fraternity, and all the practice I have, that I could really use a breather course. I’ve heard it’s fun.”

The advisor looks skeptical, unsure of what to do in this position as she watches Shiro’s eyes widen in silent plea. He picks at the loose hanging threads of his college’s rugby sweater, SHIROGANE in bright yellow against the black backdrop.

“Well,” she says, eyeing his wavering lips and feign nervousness, watching the way his hand idly comes up to rub the back of his neck. She sighs, defeated. “I’ll sign you up. But don’t lose track of your studies, Takashi. College is only fun when you succeed.”

“I understand,” his mouth says, gratitude evident in his voice but his eyes are laughing.

She signs him up without much more discussion on the topic, instead she asks him about his social life, if he’s _dating_ , if he’s met anyone. Shiro expertly dodges these questions as he dodges checks in the field, with a dazzling smile and a perceptive rebuke.

He leaves the office with a schedule, still warm from the printer, in his hands. He gently maneuvers it to run circles around KOGANE in the professor’s column.

IX.

“Did it work?” Hunk asks as he makes quick work of body checking the teammate closest to Shiro. The player goes flying and Shiro throws the quanco smoothly, watching as Sendak catches it further down the line. He makes a break for it, barreling past a few selective folks.

Shiro wipes the sweat from his brow using the collar of his uniform. “Yeah, I got in.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Hunk bemoans, the two of them being called out as practice comes to an end with a familiar whistle. “She has a soft spot for you.”

“I know,” Shiro grins, sure to take a swig of his water bottle before effortlessly passing it to Hunk. The bigger man takes a couple of gulps, finishing the drink before already offering to refill it. Shiro turns him down. “I think she wants her sons to grow up like me.”

“Well,” they enter the locker room, high-fiving any exposed arms and laughing when something has been directed to them. “Can you tell her to let me sign up for that Home Economics class? The one Dr. Coran teaches on the side.”

“The cooking one?”

“Yeah, I heard it’s a diamond in the rough.”

Shiro looks thoughtful for a moment, pulling his uniform off and making quick work of cleaning up, slathering deodorant and stuffing the damp clothes into a gym bag.

“Not showering?” A voice beside them calls, both snapping their attention as Sendak strolls by, a savage grin already etched into his face, as if he was born laughing at a joke no one knew.

“We’ve got a thing,” Hunk supplies, pulling up his sweatpants. Shiro knows Sendak ignores the response, eyes trained on him as his slows his dressing process down, chest bare.

“Shame, really.” He teases. “There is something I think you’d be interested to hear though.”

The shift in topic snaps Shiro out of it with a frown as he reaches for a clean shirt to pull over his head, effectively hiding him as his wipes the residue sweat that falls at the back of his neck.

“And that is?” He humors, closing up the locker around the same time Hunk finishes tying his sneakers.

“We’ll be colleagues. I heard you signed up for Postmodernism.”

Hunk’s reaction is plenty for them, choking on the spit he inhaled as he knocks a fist against his chest to clear his throat. Shiro is openly staring now.

Sendak must feel like the conversation is done before he pushes himself off the locker he was leaning against, rolling his shoulders for a _pop_ before he waves the two boys off and heads to his own section of the locker room.

“He’s a prick,” Hunk says after some time, righting himself and guiding them out of the confined space. “I can’t believe you once—well.”

“We’re not talking about it.”

“Gotcha, gotcha.”

There’s a brief pause.

“But Freshman year was really wild.”

“ _Hunk._ ”

Shiro’s voice sounds stern but they’re both laughing.

X.

“We’re in boys,” Pidge all but shouts, shoving the door open to Shiro’s single room, glasses twinkling in the faint light of the neon lava lamp ambiently twisting the liquid inside. Hunk is on his bed, attention tightly controlled by the finale of MasterChef. Shiro looks at her from his elevated position on the bar, his arms flexing as he remains suspended on the other side, the doorway to his bathroom.

“Whatcha in?” Hunk asks, turning his head as wet hair slaps him in the face.

“And what took you so long? We ended up rushing out without showering and then gave up waiting.”

“Foolish,” she teases, footing Shiro’s door closed and kicking off her shoes, now more scuffed than ever. “I’m in a very specific literature class too, next semester.”

Shiro drops from the bar with a relatively quiet _thump_ , pushing his hair back from his face to stare at her. “You know?”

“Man,” Hunk says, sitting up. “You and everyone’s mother are taking this class.”

“Why?” Shiro asks.

“I needed an elective and we both know the last book you read was The Hobbit back in eighth grade.”

“She’s right. And I don’t even think you _finished it—_ ”

Shiro whines, flopping into his desk chair as Pidge jumps on the other end of the bed. Hunk jumps as well so that she’s propelled up and a laugh escapes her. “I get it, I’m not well-read.”

“You’re so far past not well-read, you don’t even read the bulletin boards. I distinctively remember you always asking Hunk to read whatever he’s looking at.”

  “I’m not illiterate.”

“No, but you’re gonna need all the help you can get. I know Dr. Kogane is gonna rail you ass,” Shiro opens his eyes slightly, “and not in the way you want.”

Shiro promptly closes his eyes again.

“Well, I’ll take what I can get, I guess.”

“That’s not the perfectionist Shiro we know,” Hunk sings, closing his laptop before turning his attention to Pidge. “How’s that lab partner?”

“Fucking wild,” she groans, grabbing one of Shiro’s pillows to shove against her face. This time around, she thought ahead to gently hand Hunk her glasses, which he gingerly places on Shiro’s nightstand against the lava lamp.

 _Postmodern_ , he thinks.

“He’s smart, I know it. But he’s struggling to apply anything we learn in class. Like I know he’s not a dumbass, but he’s not _retaining_ anything. I don’t know how he’s in advanced chemistry.”

Hunk shrugs. “Maybe you should tutor him.”

“Pidge barely has the patience for herself,” Shiro sighs, standing up and pulling out the snacks from the minifridge. Hunk gets up and creates the makeshift curtain to block light from the bottom bunkbed.

“Maybe _you_ should tutor him.”

Shiro scoffs. “Hunk’s better at that.”

“I am?”

“You are,” they reply in unison, Pidge placing her massive laptop on the top of a textbook at the head of the bed. It takes some maneuvering but all three squeeze into the tight confines of the bed. “You know, you fucking meatheads are getting ridiculous.”

Hunk laughs, lifting his arm up as Shiro mirrors it so Pidge can rest comfortably under them. The fan they clicked to the railing at the head of the bed is coming into use now. “This was a lot easier in highschool.”

“You mean before you both got jacked.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shiro teases, logging on to Hulu with Matt’s account, something they all worked very diligently to steal half a year ago. “I’m the exact same.”

“You could be a before and after commercial.”

“I feel like that was mean.”

They watch something mindless, because it wasn’t about what they watched. It was about the way Pidge talks about how lab is slowly suffocating her but when she got her near perfect scored exam back it was all worth it. It was about the way Hunk talked about maybe going into wrestling or kickboxing because he feels that he needs more contact sports to let off some steam he has building up. It was about the way Shiro wordlessly mulls over his future and the expectations he set for himself, the way he sometimes has moments of silence where he rests his chin on Pidge’s head and says nothing.

And sometimes, saying nothing is saying everything.

XI.

The Fall Semester finishes anticlimactically. Rugby takes a break and Hunk really does sign up for wrestling, something the coach seemed to be shitting himself in joy over. Pidge decides to switch out her affront to nature of a green backpack for a satchel of muted ones. It only took Shiro three months to convince her.

They both leave for winter break, something Shiro cannot afford as an RA. The halls empty relatively quickly when classes end and soon, Shiro sits alone on the soft carpet floors, finishing door decorations of every resident on his floor. He did snowflakes this year and they’re absolutely hideous, the sharp misscuts and the wobbly lines say exactly what state of mind he was in while making them: over it.

He’s on the last batch, hanging up the last two on the final door when he hears music from behind. It’s odd, he thought everyone has left already and its not uncommon for someone to have forgotten something on when they leave.

“Hello?” Shiro calls, snowflake in hand like some sort of badge. There is no answer.

“Hello?” He’s more forceful, jimmying the knob. It’s unlocked and before he can stop himself, he pushes the door open as a figure scrambles inside.

With the door wide open, snowflake gripped like the holy cross in his hand, Shiro takes in the sight of a resident he’s unfamiliar with, tan skin obvious with his bare chest, loose towel tied around his waist and brown hair damply sticking to his head. And there, right _there_ , in his arms, pressed against his chest, is a rather unhappy looking cat, eyes like daggers in Shiro’s direction.

“Um,” the resident looks pale, blue eyes wide at Shiro. He seems to recognize him almost immediately. “I can explain.”

“Oh, I fucking hope so,” Shiro says before facing the door beside him, tight against the wall as he lifts up the final snowflake and tapes it to the wood. _Lance_ , in blue cursive, stares back at him.

“Fuck,” Lance says.

XII.

Lance McClain lives in 230A at the end of Shiro’s hall. He studies chemical engineering and theater, speaks three languages and has a large collection of action figures and DBZ fighting games. His roommate has left for the winter and Lance found the cat outside the dorm, begging at him with pleading eyes.

“So,” Lance says, dressed and situated on his desk, back against the window as Shiro sits on the office chair. The cat is comfortable in Lance’s lap, being lavished with attention. “I couldn’t just leave her there, you know?”

“She can’t stay here, Lance. You’re putting not just yourself, but me at risk too.”

“Oh, come on, Shiro.” He looks absolutely devastated, his bottom lip is quivering. Shiro cringes, he was never good at this sort of thing.

“It’s against the rules. What would your roommate think?”

“He doesn’t mind! He saw Voltron before he left.”

“ _Voltron?_ You named her?!”

Lance looks affronted. “Of course, Shiro.” He rubs Voltron’s head gently, as if apologizing for Shiro’s transgression. “She’s an honorary member. Like your fraternity. Wait, why are you an RA?”

“It’s allowed. I can still do both.”

“Sounds like a full plate,” Lance brings up Voltron to his face, making her look cute and inviting and despite the monstrous stare she gives Shiro, it’s working on him. “Sounds like you need something to help with the stress.”

Shiro reaches a hand out, without his control and Voltron looks as if she’s about to hiss before something stops her and she lets Shiro successfully pet her.

“See?” The boy is smiling.

Shiro isn’t.

“Fine, but if she gets caught, I’m not vouching for you.”

“Great because I was looking for a cat watcher later this week.”

“No.”

XIII.

When Lance comes knocking the second week of break, barista apron on and a frantic panic of being late to work in his eyes, Shiro takes Voltron in.

She only breaks two of his mugs before settling down.

XIV.

The bar is relatively quiet from the outside.

Snow is just beginning to collect itself on the windowsills and ledges. The chairs from the front have long since been moved inside and the little OPEN sign is blinking in Christmas colors.

It was Shay who texted him, well aware that his closest friends and the majority of the student body has left for the holidays. Despite their only form of communication being the small conversations, they hold when the frat comes to the bar, Shiro begins to think of her as someone he values the company of.

In that he couldn’t say no.

He pushes the door open and is greeted by the smallest number of patrons he’s ever seen in here. There’s a couple of stragglers at the bar, a few booths and tables filled. Shay is behind the bar, wiping a glass when she looks up and spots him. A warm smile fills her face as she hurriedly gestures for him to take a seat at the stool in front of her.

Shiro smiles, pulling off the thick winter coat and leaving it on the hanger at the doorway.

“And here comes the most handsome, dashing, athletic—”

“I get it, I get it. I’m here, okay?”

“I was just about to add lazy.” She hands him a glass and winks.

He scowls for a moment before getting low and taking baby sips of the drink. “Why the hurry to get me here?”

She looks mischievous, the soft roundness of her face warming up in delight. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it a cat?”

“What?”

“Sorry,” Shiro mutters, taking another sip. “Bad joke.”

Shay looks confused before the soft bell of someone entering catches her attention immediately. Her smile grows effortlessly wider and Shiro begins to feel a wave of uneasiness spread through him like wildfire.

Dr. Kogane gives her a nod, moving to hang up his coat as well, a bright red jacket that reaches to his knees. It looks warm, is the first thought that crosses Shiro’s mind.

The second is _holy fucking shit._

The man is approaching. He’s wearing a sweater from the college campus store, black with gold lettering that says “GO GET THEM BEES” which holds a level of humor Shiro isn’t sure Dr. Kogane is aware about, and black jeans. His hair is clipped up with falling strands everywhere, spilling like loose oil on either side of his cheek.

He looks less tired, like he’s been catching up on sleep during the break. And when he sits, he rolls up his sleeves to reveal a fitbit and Shiro gains the brief understanding that he’s _fit_ more than a little _bit_ with the way those arms look.

Shay smacks him gently on the elbow before he slouches into his drink and makes a fool of himself. Dr. Kogane sits beside him.

“Usual?” Shay asks, her voice a chorus of soft melodies and it rattles him.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate it,” Dr. Kogane says, and _his voice._ He sounds like he’s been screaming.

With a nod, Shay turns around to retrieve the bottle of Pale Ale and just like that, it’s the two of them. Shiro chokes on his drink at the realization and that catches the other man’s attention.

He raises an eyebrow at him, looking mildly unimpressed. “You okay?”

Shiro pounds at his chest, waving a hand off. “Ya-yeah. Peachy.”

Dr. Kogane takes the drink offered to him before Shay vanishes again. Shiro makes note that she’s worse than Pidge.

“I didn’t think the professors frequented this bar.” It sounds as stupid as he feels coming out of his mouth.

“We don’t,” Dr. Kogane says warily, sipping the bottle. Shiro forces his focus to remain on his eyes. “The Fraternities get too loud.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

The silence stretches on for a couple of minutes and it begins to grow unbearable so Shiro does what is right. He orders a drink, and then another one. And another one.

The night rolls on and Shiro is opening his mouth about how much he hated Spirited Away.

“I just think,” he says as he tries to collect himself. Dr. Kogane is pushing his fifth bottle of beer away, staring at him intently. “I just think it’s overshadowing all the other films. Like, it’s a great film, no arguments there, but how many people know anything else.”

“Howl’s is pretty popular,” Dr. Kogane responds, completely serious in low tones. Shiro feverishly nods, leaning in.

“But what about Kiki’s? Or Grave of the Fire Fly? Or Akira.”

“You’re drunk, Studio Ghibli didn’t do that.”

“Ah,” Shiro says, leaning back and finishing his drink. “It was a test.”

“Oh,” the man’s face turns serious once more. “Did I pass?”

“With flying colors.”

Dr. Kogane shoots him a small smile, resting his face against his palm. Shiro slips up for a moment at the vulnerable expression, color flourishing on his cheeks. He prays the professor doesn’t notice.

“I saw that you signed up for my class.”

“Yeah.”

He wets his lips. “I didn’t take you for the literature type.”

“Was it the muscle tanks, because I swear I only wear them for practice.”

Dr. Kogane laughs, and it’s so small and _rare_. And Shiro knows its rare because he feels like he’s achieved something of an Olympic feat. “I was going to say that you come highly spoken about by Dr. Coran.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m a genius.”

Dr. Kogane snorts.

The drinks are paid for and the two pull their coats from the rack. Shiro is already mourning going their separate ways, knows that when they see each other again, he’s going to have to try harder when he’s just another face in the class.

 “Goodnight, Dr. Kogane. See you next semester.”

“It’s Keith,” he says at the doorway, snow falling against his black hair. His nose is already bright pink from the cold as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. Shiro’s mind short circuits.

“What?”

“Call me Keith,” the man grins, as if he didn’t just _shatter_ Shiro’s world effortlessly. “But only out of class. I don’t mind, Shiro.”

“Uh huh,” Shiro agrees, mouth agape as Dr. Ko— _Keith_ turns his back and starts walking towards the professor mandated living spaces. His red coat is like a beacon in the relatively dark street of the college town.

“Keith.” Shiro mutters, repeating the name as he begins walking home. “Keith Kogane.”

It’s only when he arrives to the dorm, spots Lance chasing Voltron as she runs through their shared hallway does he realize with the drop of his keys.

“He knew my name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont even remember what sheith looks like, but somehow my body told me what to do  
> that and some amazing people on twitter


	3. introduction to a porno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck me,” Shiro grunts in frustration, making a swipe of the book but it’s gone, already placed gingerly into Sendak’s basket. On the top, like an ill-gotten prize.
> 
> “Been there, done that,” he says, exasperated as he turns to walk away. “See you in class.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, this is a sheith fic but mainly a shiro study because look at the size of that lad. an absolute unit.  
> thanks for all the support, i felt good writing this.

XV.

If there was no God, it would be necessary to invent him.

XVI.

Pidge arrives back to campus two days before class starts and she’s _fucking_ _pissed_.

Shiro continues to pull himself up on the bar, his legs wrapped around it as he clenches his stomach in effort. When his forehead nearly touches his knees, he almost wants to congratulate himself. Pidge is uninterested in his extreme need to body mold as she plays aimlessly with Voltron, who continues to glare at him from the safe confines of her lap. Somehow, she’s been spending a lot more time in his room than Lance’s and Shiro is getting the distinct feeling he’s been lied too.

“I just,” he grunts, pulling himself up again, enjoying how much his muscles are beginning to ache. The shower is going to feel so, so, _so_ good. “Think maybe,” grunt. “You should consider, I don’t know,” he finally just hangs, staring at her upside down, sweat collecting in his hair. Her face twists in disgust. “ _Talking_ to him?”

“Excuse me?” She sounds completely offended, her fingers stop their petting motion much to Voltron’s quiet rage, again, directed at Shiro.

He feels his knees give way and doesn’t bother saving himself as he falls to the floor. He mouths around the wood, “Just ask him. I’m sure Hunk has a perfectly good explanation.”

She doesn’t respond immediately and Shiro briefly panics that she had stormed out, arching his back to bring up his head and look at the bed. She remains there, quietly staring and chewing on the inside of her cheek. Pidge is many things but subdued is rare. There’s a weight Shiro hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Hey,” he says softly, pushing himself up from the floor and bumbling his way to her on shaky knees. He should have stopped at one hundred. When he finally collapses on the bed, it takes no effort to reach out an arm and offer comfort. “I think you’re just worried.”

“He showed up with _bruises_ , Shiro. Bruises on his knuckles. You don’t get that from just wrestling.”

“You know Hunk’s always _been_ —”

“So, you’re not worried. Not even a little?”

“I’m fucking terrified.”

“What?” Pidge says, her face scrunching up as she looks at him. It’s the first time in years Shiro is reminded of her height and his.

“He’s his own person, Pidge. We can’t tell him how to live his life.”

“I know.”

“And he looks pretty happy. Doing whatever it is.”

“I _know_.”

“He needs our support. You know he’s been eyeing this for forever.”

Pidge is resigned. “I know.”

The silence between them stretches until Voltron seems to grow fed up and her teeth make contact with Shiro’s exposed palm. He doesn’t scream, but whatever sound he does emit gets Pidge’s laughter to fill the room.

XVII.

Shiro hasn’t bought a fictional book since he started college.

The line in the campus bookstore is long and unwavering, students scrambling the day before class to collect their materials. There’s already a handful of books in his arms that Shiro’s never heard of and he’s gripping the syllabus with dear life as he navigates the endless rows of shelves.

“ _Postmodernism, or, The Culture Logic of Late Capitalism,_ ” he mutters, staring at the sheet as he searches for an essay pamphlet.

He’s nearly done an hour later, having been unable to flag an attendant with just how many other customers were in here. There’s only one more thing. _Postmodern Science Fiction and Temporal Imagination_ , 2010. It takes him three rotations of the same section before he finally stumbles a on shelf, a singular copy waiting for him in all it’s postmodern glory. And just as he reaches out, a particularly thick arm makes the same movement.

“Sendak, you son of a bitch,” Shiro hisses before even looking up as both hands make contact with the paperback. Sendak is beside him, having come from the opposite end of the aisle, basket filled to the brim with literature. The fact that Sendak is double majoring in _English Literature_ and probably has seen Keith more than Shiro, a problem that never arose until now, nearly sets him off in the store.

“Takashi,” he says, sullen. He looks just as tired as Shiro feels, as if he’s been in the bookstore for decades, has seen generations pass, saw the second coming of Jesus— “I need this book.”

“We’re in the same class.”

“Then you understand.”

“I was here first.”

“Are we children?”

Shiro wants to say _yes_ and that as he’s co-captain of the team, he should get _dibs_ , whatever the hell that means.

“Sendak,” he says, looking up to the other before puffing out his bottom lip. His eyes widen in makeshift sadness and he hunches to make himself smaller. Sendak’s mouth falls agape. “I really need the book.”

There’s a couple of seconds of awkward silence before- “That hasn’t worked on me since freshman year.”

“Fuck me,” Shiro grunts in frustration, making a swipe of the book but it’s gone, already placed gingerly into Sendak’s basket. On the top, like an ill-gotten prize.

“Been there, done that,” he says, exasperated as he turns to walk away. “See you in class.”

Shiro watches the shape of his back, large and expansive as he meanders down the aisle, probably continuing his hunt. He turns back to the empty shelf now, hollowed out like his current understanding of what the fucking point is anymore.

But then he looks at the syllabus and see’s KOGANE and it all makes sense.

He’s cursed.

XVIII.

“You look excited,” Allura murmurs, the joint hanging precariously from her fingertips.

Shiro lulls his head to face her, blinking wearily as he absentmindedly strokes his bare stomach. She watches him, her hair falling like iridescent silk, curling around her face and shoulders as if she walked out of some famous painting by a big shot Frenchman. 

Instead, they both know she came from her work shift at the radio station.

Shiro is still impressed she wears such nice lingerie under her sweats.

“I am,” he says, leisurely reaching out for the blunt. She passes it wordlessly, perfect fingernails upkept and painted a soft pink, lovely against the backdrop of her white hair. As Lance would say, Allura is a _Look_ , and Shiro often finds himself unable to comprehend how she saw something in him. He assumes _saw_ is the key word in that statement.

She raises an eyebrow, as if waiting for him to continue. He takes a drag, sitting up and still feeling warm despite only being in his boxers. “I’ve got my first day of classes tomorrow.”

“You sound like your first year—”

“There’s this professor.”

Allura’s eyes light up and Shiro inhales, coughing as if cosmic dust propelled itself forward from the cosmos of her eyes. He doesn’t mind the burn as he gently hands her back the joint. She finishes it with a finesse. “I love you,” he whispers. Her eyes are rolling.

“Which professor?”

“Dr. Kogane.”

“From the lit department?”

“Yeah,” he rubs at his neck, feeling the outgrown hair in the back. _Shit_ , he forgot to get that cleaned up over break. She seems to catch that movement though, smiling before getting up from bed. Shiro openly stares at the lines of her hips, the way her thighs seem to glow in the backdrop of the setting sun bleeding through exposures in the curtain. Her breasts are held up by delicate black lace.

“You’re not in that field, not even _close_.”

Shiro grits his teeth, following her up and rolling his shoulders to get the kinks out. “I’m aware.”

She gestures him to follow her to the bathroom. “So, I’m assuming you’re going to, what? Woo him? How deviant.”

“I consider it more like investing.”

“Investing on sucking his dick by taking the class.”

“ _Allura_ ,” he groans, not having to be told to sit on the toilet seat as she makes quick work to plug in the electric razor.

“How short?”

“5?”

She hums, turning it on and forcing Shiro head to tilt forward. He feels like this is some sort of prayer, especially when he feels her breath, warm against his neck.

“You really gave yourself a lofty goal. I’m not in literature myself but I know of Kogane.”

“What did you hear?”

“He’s slaughtered countless innocent.”

Shiro smiles. “I guess we have a lot in common.”

There’s a pause of the razor before Allura is blowing away the fallen hair from his shoulders. “Cocky,” she teases, pinching his ear.

“Hunk says I have fans.”

“Want me to leak your nudes then? For more traction.”

“Knowing you, you’d ask Pidge to photoshop something and just the thought of her seeing my dick, ironically or not, is horrifying.”

“Fine. I’ll just show Hunk.”

“He’s a man of culture, he’d appreciate it.”

She turns off the clippers, cleaning him up before grabbing a pair of scissors and fixing up any problem areas. “Even nipple piercing era?”

“Especially bling-nip Shiro.”

She finishes, taking a bit longer because they’re both high and her fingers can’t stop shaking from laughter. Eventually she pulls him off the toilet to face the mirror by the sink. He’s standing tall, shoulders broad, hair finally kept and clean, despite the shadow growing on his chin. He looks good, he feels good.

Allura comes up behind him, resting herself against his back as two arms encircle his neck. She presses her lips to his shoulder. “You look great Shiro. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He wants to ask her if she was happy with him, back then.

Instead, he smiles lazily at their reflection before craning his neck to face her.

“Then, lets hope Dr. Kogane is a lucky man.”

XIX.

Dr. Kogane is not a lucky man.

Shiro realizes this the moment the lecture hall door kicks open with a jarring thud, startling everyone in the packed classroom and nearly having Pidge fly into the air if Shiro hadn’t gripped her, white knuckled in brief panic. Sendak doesn’t wake on the other side of him.

When Dr. Kogane finally stumbles in, it seems hell follows closely behind his footsteps. His sweater, originally a light blue, is completely stained with coffee. His hair has long since fallen out of whatever rubberband seemed to be holding it together, the peak of it hanging on the low end of a couple of strands in the back. His shoes are untied and he’s carrying everything, laptop and papers, in his hands. It becomes immediately apparent his messenger bag has a gaping hole in it.

“This,” Pidge whispers. “is the love of your life?”

“Fucking idiot,” Sendak mumbles into the desk, refusing to sit up.

Shiro stares, wide eyed as Keith eventually stumbles to the desk, dumps everything on it before running to the chalk board, scribbling _Postmodernism_ and _Dr. Kogane_. He finishes by all but throwing the chalk piece against the board and turning around. He reaches down and rips off the sweater, revealing a t-shirt with some kind of quote and a map. In a brief flash, Shiro sees the skin of his flat stomach and inhales. Pidge elbows him.

With Keith free of his stained sweater, hair successfully tied up and shoes laced, he looks at the class. His eyes scan the room before eventually landing on Shiro, blinking in recognition before the piece of chalk materializes in his hands and soon, it’s being whipped through the room, clocking Sendak at mach speed, killing him instantly.

Or so Shiro wished.

“Fuck,” he sits up, startled as chalk dust settled.

“I’m Dr. Kogane,” Keith speaks, his voice as weighted as Shiro remembered it from the bar. He feels himself grow red. Pidge is openly staring at him now. “This is postmodernism. Let’s be entitled douchebags about literature, I guess.”

The class murmurs but Keith is already writing the reading list on the board.

“Yeah,” Shiro says, turning to face Pidge when the lights dim for the introduction to the course powerpoint. “The love of my fucking life.”

“His shirt says WISH YOU WERE HERE.”

“Yeah.”

Pidge frowns. “It’s pointing to the middle of the ocean.”

“Better learn how to swim,” Sendak adds, rubbing his forehead and sitting up, towering over the row behind them much to whoever’s anger.

“Don’t you have any other friends to sit with?” Pidge snaps quick.

Sendak pointedly ignores her.

Shiro rests his face in his open palm, watching as Keith begins to struggle with power point, and then later, using google tabs. “He’s perfect.”

Pidge makes slurping noises.

XX.

“I can’t believe he already gave us an assignment.”

Pidge makes her way down the stairs of the lecture hall, casting a withering gaze at Shiro who shrugs, eyeing Keith slowly gather the mess of papers on his desk.

She continues to ramble about something as they make to pass him but Keith’s head suddenly snaps up and Shiro is reintroduced to his eyes.

“Takashi, mind hanging back?”

Pidge doesn’t give him room to breathe, turning on her heels and wiggling her eyebrows as she walks backwards outside of class. Shiro thinks revenge couldn’t come soon enough.

“Dr. Kogane.”

“I looked over your course load and noticed you haven’t taken any literature classes in college.”

_He did what?_

“Yeah,” Shiro laughs awkwardly because he took this class to stare at Keith’s ass— “I only recently developed an enjoyment of it.”

“Well, there’s a couple of popular readings I expect a lot of students to know before taking this course, from pure exposure to the mainstream and the class’s prerequisites.”

More awkward laughter as Keith narrows his eyes at him from under his bangs and Shiro is so sure he is looking into his very soul and can see that not only was he high yesterday, but he’s been marathoning the Eric Andre show because he thinks that’s postmodern.

Right?

RIGHT?

“Shiro,” Keith sighs, rubbing his eyes. He looks tired, like the world is out to get him. “Listen, if you’re up for a little more work on your schedule, I can provide you with some additional readings and materials to keep you up to speed with the class.”

It’s in that moment that the universe aligns itself for him. Shiro knows that he’s smart enough to figure this out on his own. Shiro knows that if Keith looked at his transcript, he knows that Shiro is smart enough to figure this out on his own. Either this is a weird introduction to a porno, or a story he’s going to be telling his family at dinner as to why he quit college and started worked on his dad’s farm.

Or it’s neither of these things and Keith is legitimately trying to help him.

“I’d appreciate it, Professor. Can I visit you during office hours?”

Keith grunts a sure before waving him off as he finally gathers everything in his hands. There’s another man waiting at the door, dressed smartly with an air of entitlement to him.

“Lotor,” Keith groans as the two approach the door. The other man nods, smiling at Shiro in a way that makes him nervous as the two separate. Pidge is waiting for him a couple of doors away.

“Did you guys fuck? That was quick.”

“Shut up, who’s that?”

Pidge peeks behind him to the fleeting form of Keith and the stranger before frowning. “Isn’t that Dr. Sincline? From Russian Lit?”

Shiro watches them vanish down the hall, something settling uneasy into his gut.

XXI.

He doesn’t know _shit_ about postmodernism.

XXII.

Hunk jogs next to him, making their third turn around the track.

“How you holding up?” Shiro asks because he can’t ask about the black eye, or the bruised knuckles or the way Hunk smiles a lot wider now.

“Swimmingly, dude. This uh, activity is amazing.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Pidge and I both know you signed up for boxing classes at the gym in town.”

Hunk’s shoulders deflate a little but as he risks a glance at the other, keeping pace despite his apparent hesitance. “Oh.”

“We don’t care as long as you don’t die.”

There’s a smile on his lips Shiro knows Hunk didn’t even attempt to stop. “I can’t die, I’ve got tons of movie watching experience on my back.”

“That’s nothing. You need to read comics too.”

“Of course.”

The two continue running in comfortable silence before finally, Hunk cracks with the real reason behind this shared exercise experience at 4 am.

“So, there’s a resident in your hall.”

“Uh huh.”

 _Wait_.

“And I was wondering if you could tell me if he’s dating anyone.”

Shiro comes to an abrupt stop, shifting gears and checking Hunk into the ground. He doesn’t see it coming and tumbles rather gracefully despite it. “Is this the truth? Is Hunk crushing? Is our Hunk _crushing_?”

“Shiro!”

“You openly mocked me with Pidge. Let me have this,” he teases, helping the other up. “Alright, who is it?”

“It’s Pidge’s chem partner. I ended up running into him and now I’m tutoring him for some extra cash.”

“Go on.”

“His name is Lance.”

Shiro shoves his finger against Hunk’s lips, abruptly stopping him from speaking any further as he forcefully hushes him. “Speak no more. Let Shiro aid you.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

Shiro shoots him a dazzling smile, the one on the cover of the current school paper with the Rugby team’s successful season. Hunk visibly looks sick. “I’m a trained expert.”

“I’m starting to think I should have asked Pidge instead.”

“What? Why?”

“Cause at least she’s been successful in all her love life endeavors, unlike us.”

“She’s dating herself, in that she doesn’t date.”

“A date with yourself has a 100% success rate.”

In the end, Hunk does ask Shiro for advice and learns about Voltron, about Lance’s shift at the coffee house on campus, about his weird habit of showering specifically at 3 AM and singing lovestruck songs with melancholy melodies in the hallway.

In exchange, Hunk tells Shiro that he’s spotted Keith countless times at said coffee house and saw him spill his drink on himself earlier that week.

“He’s there every Tuesday morning, at least.”

And just like that, Shiro wakes up a little earlier on Tuesdays.

Three hours earlier.

XXIII.

Keith can’t stand bitter coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to my buddy raw for telling me lotor's last name.
> 
> i wish i died on impact like sendak did.

**Author's Note:**

> lets fight on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/bogboogie)


End file.
